


no good unless it grows (feel this burning, love of mine)

by iwantstylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantstylinson/pseuds/iwantstylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It wasn’t until they were settled in and lying idly on the couch with their bodies intertwined that Harry whispered, holding back tears, “I’m not who I want to be.”</i><br/><br/><i>Louis leaned down, lips close enough to graze Harry’s cheek, and asked simply, “Well, who do you want to be?”</i><br/><br/><br/>Harry had thought about growing his hair out for a lot longer than he had even realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no good unless it grows (feel this burning, love of mine)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS - there's descriptions of an anxiety attack, feelings of body dysmorphia, and alcohol consumption. 
> 
> Spanish translation here: wattpad.com/story/69011618-no-good-unless-it-grows-larry-stylinson-os-espa%C3%B1ol
> 
> Title from "Take Care" by Beach House

Harry was 16, nervous and frustrated, messing with his hair in the mirror while getting ready to leave to go audition for The X Factor. He hated his hair. It was so short, curls splaying out and curling in at random, accentuating the baby fat still filling out his cheeks. He looked like a little boy. He didn’t feel like one - he felt like himself, but he wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

“Harry, are you about ready?” His mum called from downstairs, eager to get to the venue on time.

He closed his eyes and thought of rock stars with scruffy faces tossing their hair rhythmically, singing loudly and carelessly as crowds cheered along; of mermaids confidently brushing their fingers through their hair, glistening with sea salt and flowing down their backs, serenely singing into the coastal air. He took a deep breath in before opening his eyes and walking out the door.

\---

Harry was 17, crying still on his way out of the studio, pushing his fringe out of his eyes as he wiped away the tears. _I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who didn’t really care that much about what people thought about them, but I’m not,_  he’d said, in a moment where the crushing truth came pouring out of him. He hadn’t even known where it came from, really; he had never given the whole situation much thought in the context of what it said about him as a person, and the realization was startling.

He climbed into the car, another trip to another destination - they all seemed to blur together during busy days of constant promo - and in the golden light of the London sun setting through the car window, Louis was illuminating.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, concerned, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him tight.

Harry couldn’t speak, his mind racing faster than anything Louis could keep up with, no matter how hard he could try. He thought about the comments he had read on Twitter. He thought about his nervous eyes flitting about as he sang breathlessly into the microphone, voice thin and rough. He thought about his fringe, constantly in his eyes, and how stiff and uncomfortable he had looked in that blazer. He imagined himself on stage, dancing and skipping and whipping his hair freely in the wind.

The car pulled up to the house and they went inside in silence. It wasn’t until they were settled in and lying idly on the couch that Harry whispered, holding back tears, “I’m not who I want to be.”

Louis leaned down, lips close enough to graze Harry’s cheek, and asked simply, “Well, who do you want to be?”

\---

Harry was 19, exhausted, running his hands through his quiff as he walked off another stage, another crowd roaring in applause. His head was spinning, the world a dizzying mess of lights and sound, and he had to stop for a moment and rest his hands on his knees to try to make it stop. He tried to grasp onto some moment, some fan's face he had seen during the show, or maybe a line of lyrics he had sung, but everything that flashed in his mind disappeared in an instant like some strobe-light nightmare.

“Behind you!” he heard Niall shout, who zoomed past him to the exit, “C’mon, Harry!”

Liam was next, then Zayn, all gone in a flash to get on the bus and out of the venue before the crowds had a chance to catch up and try follow them.

He sighed, his breath shaky, suddenly unaware of where he was or what he was doing, or why any of it mattered. He felt dirty - covered in dried sweat and powder that felt thick on his face and product holding his hair in place above his forehead. The summer air was humid and wet and he felt like he was being suffocated. During the show, he felt like he had gone on autopilot, like he was sitting in the back of his mind watching himself perform for fans screaming lyrics back to him, lyrics he had never quite understood, that seemed to float into the air and disappear as soon as he sang them. Nothing meant anything anymore, and it scared him.  _Where is Louis?_ he wondered frantically - but within a moment he was there, lacing his fingers with Harry’s.

“Harry,” he said, his voice low and worried. He’d seen Harry like this before, usually late at night when the ringing in his ears kept him awake and it felt like the entire world was sitting on his chest. Louis knew what he needed to say to reach him during times like this, when everything seemed too far away and too big to take in. “Harry, it’s me. It’s Louis, okay? The show is over now. We need to get on the bus so we can make it to the next city in time.”

Harry looked up at him, his eyes wide and blue, like the sea he visited when he was younger. He used to play in the water with Gemma, taking in a bit of water in his mouth and spitting it out in a spray, splashing her in the face before diving under and swimming as fast as he can. He would pump his legs like he had seen Ariel do in “The Little Mermaid,” silently wishing he’d magically sprout gills and a tail so he could swim out into the cold depths of the ocean.

The dull crash of waves along the shore inside his head fell silent as Louis shuffled closer, his voice quietly pleading now, “Please, Harry. We can lie down in the bunk as soon as we get in there. We can put on a film and go to sleep, but we need to go now.”

Harry squeezed Louis’ hand and twisted his face into what he hoped resembled a smile, then followed Louis as they hurried onto the bus. Harry felt numb, like his limbs weren’t his own, and the ink he had so excitedly etched into his skin looked from the corners of his eyes like the indecipherable scrawls of a child. He climbed into the bed after Louis, pulling the privacy curtain closed.

They laid there for a few minutes in silence - the air quietly passing through Louis’ nose the only thing keeping Harry tethered in the moment. The bus lurched forward, starting their journey into the night.

Louis ran the tips of his fingers along Harry’s arm cautiously, testing the waters before speaking. “How are you doing, baby?” he asked, his voice calming.

Harry took a deep breath in, the fresh scent of Louis’ skin mixing with the foul musk of his own, and grimaced. “I feel disgusting.”

Louis lightly pressed his lips into Harry’s shoulder. “We can take a shower as soon as we get to the hotel.”

Harry furrowed his brows like a petulant child. “No, can - can you wash my hair?”

Louis paused for a moment, like he was questioning if Harry was serious. “Like, in the sink?”

Harry stared back at him equally as perplexed, like he wasn't the one with the answer, and he needed Louis' permission. Louis blinked slowly and nodded before nudging Harry back out of the bunk and into the small toilet area.

Louis reached to turn the tap on, but paused to ask, “Warm or cold?”

“Mmm... Cold.”

Louis nodded again before turning on the tap and stepping aside for him. Harry leaned down and let the water run over his head, gasping at how cold it was. He hadn't thought it out very well - the ice cold water fell down his face, forcing him to squint his eyes shut tightly, but it felt good, so good, like waking up abruptly from a nightmare.

He heard the flick of a cap open, and Louis ran his shampoo covered fingers into Harry’s scalp. He sighed, letting Louis massage his head freely, washing all the grease and gunk out of his hair. Louis turned the tap off and helped him to stand upright again, using a hand towel to dry his hair a bit.

Louis went into the hall to hang the towel up, and Harry stared in the mirror, confused because he couldn't recognize himself. His tan, tattooed skin stretched over rippling muscles, his stomach flat and sculpted. He looked like Harry Styles, rumored lothario and notorious charmer, but he didn’t look like himself. He felt like it was hopeless, like there wasn’t anything he could do to make this any easier, like every day was getting harder and making his head heavier with all the things he wanted to do and say but never could.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis cooed as he appeared, wiping away tears Harry hadn’t noticed were spilling over his cheeks.

“I think I know how Britney felt when she shaved her head,” Harry said lightly, making a sound that he tried to play off as a laugh as he ruffled his hair with his hand.

Louis was quiet. “Do you want to shave your head?” He asked, watching Harry in the mirror. “I thought you wanted your hair longer.”

Harry shook his head solemnly. “No, I do want it longer. At least I think I do. I don’t know.”

“Harry,” Louis took Harry’s hands in his own and pressed his thumbs into Harry’s palms lightly. “You told me before that it’s something you’ve thought about a lot before. That you thought it was something you wanted to try.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, more tears spilling out. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, so he closed it again and nodded.

“And I told you: you can wear your hair however you want. It's just hair. You can do whatever you’d like.”

“But that’s not what they want," Harry choked out, his head so hollow he could hear his own thoughts echo over and over.

Louis looked concerned. “Who?”

Harry shrugged, exasperated. “The fans. The world. Everyone.”

Louis smiled. “If you think everyone in the world cares about how you wear your hair, then we’ve got a bigger problem here.”

Harry scoffed, pulling his hands away and stepping back.

“Hey,” Louis said, offended. “Don’t do that, please. I’m on your team. Always.”

Harry peeled his eyes off the floor and looked at Louis. He looked so small, so scared, so worried. And, as if sensing what Harry saw, Louis straightened his spine and filled his chest with air. Harry hated when he did that - tried to act more stable than he was, like he felt like he had to for Harry. That wasn’t what this was about. You aren’t supposed to hide how you feel for the sake of the ones you love. He felt so tired suddenly, like he could collapse.

“I’m sorry, I feel ridiculous,” he said, stepping forward again until their noses touched. He cupped his hand under Louis’ chin, just resting it there lightly, like he was handling something extremely delicate.

“I want to help you,” Louis said, his voice slightly above a whisper, “I want you to be okay.”

Harry breathed in deep, let it out slow. “I do too, so badly. I just don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m being suffocated every single day. I feel like I’m constantly being gawked at. And it would be fine - it wouldn’t be so bad, if I just... felt...” He closed his eyes, trying with every ounce of strength left in him to keep his tone even as breathed out, “If I felt like me.”

When he opened his eyes again, Louis was staring back, his eyes dark and certain. “You’re so strong, do you know that?” He asked, his tone alarmingly soft compared to the storm in his eyes. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong on your own, you know? It’s okay to need help, to take a step back, to not push yourself so far.”

“But I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to give up on all of this.”

“Nobody’s saying you have to, Harry. But you need to figure out what it is about yourself that you love, and you need to cherish it.”

Harry glanced up at himself in the mirror again. Next to Louis, he looked softer, and it reminded him of when they were first getting to know each other - already impossibly long ago - when he swore to himself he’d do anything if it meant keeping Louis by his side.

“Do you want me to tell you what I love about you?” Louis asked, his tone playful, "You know, to get you brainstorming."

Harry mustered up a smirk. “As if you’ve never told me before.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I love that smirk of yours, as disgustingly smug as it is. I love your sense of humor. I love how you’re always reading a new book, or discovering a new band, or learning something new. You’re never bored, and that’s so refreshing to me.” He ran his hands above the waist of Harry’s jeans, wrapping around to his sides and giving them a small pinch. “I love the fleshy bit on your hips. I love your bony toes. I love your sense of style, and your affinity for jewelry. I love your hair when you first wake up in the morning and your fringe is all mussed up-”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t stop the tears from streaming anymore. “I don’t know what to do about my hair,” He let out between panicked sobs, “I’ve never grown it out longer than this before. I hate having all this product and fuss in it all the time, but I don’t know how to not deal with it while it’s growing through its awkward phase.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Louis asked softly, rubbing his back. “There’s these things called hats, I’m not sure if you know, but they cover your head-”

“I can’t wear a  _hat_  onstage,” Harry snapped, instantly feeling disgusting for the sharpness in his words.

Louis paid no mind to that - he pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. “You’re right, it’d fall off too easily, with all your bouncing around and whatnot, wouldn’t it? Hmm, let me think.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of Harry’s neck, playing with his wet curls there, humming softly. Harry closed his eyes and felt himself being guided back to the present, with the bus zooming over some dark American highway, with the other boys idly resting in their bunks, trying and failing to get some much needed sleep.

“What about wrapping it up? Like, in a scarf, how you do sometimes. You have that lovely green one, that deep green scarf. I think it’d look nice in your hair.”

Harry opened his eyes and smiled softly, in awe that this was his life, this was his boy in front of him, his Louis. “You think so?”

Louis' eyes twinkled, like he held all the secrets of the universe in that deep blue. "I do."

\---

Harry was 20, sweating in the California heat under the lights, feeling at ease despite the fact that he was standing on stage in front of tens of thousands of people. It wasn't anything new - they were over halfway done with the third leg of their world tour - but there was something about making eye contact with one single person in a sea of thousands desperate for his attention that gave him a rush, something so explosive yet stable to hold onto. He'd learned from their last tour that if he didn't focus on taking note of all the little details that made every show different, he'd look back on it later and only see a blur of movement, light, and sound. It was better to try to put faces to the moment, to remember the freckled face of the girl in the third row who had brought him a Packers Cheesehead in Chicago, or the round glasses on the quiet boy who proudly announced into Harry's microphone that he was turning six in Toronto.

He was laughing at the sign someone who was seated on the side of the stadium had brought when the opening strums of "Strong" filled his ears, making his heart do a little flip in his chest. Of course, he had heard this song hundreds of times, performed it night after night, but singing songs on stage that were written about  _him_ was a completely different experience than he'd ever had before.

There was something ironic, watching thousands of mouths singing along with them to a song they didn't know the story behind. It made him wonder what it would feel like to have complete, open honesty with his fans - to be able to say, _This is who I am and this is how I feel_ , and for them to understand, without having to worry about judgement or coming across the wrong way or getting caught in a mess of lies. He hoped someday he would know that feeling.

He turned toward the center of the stage and saw Liam wiggling his hips cutely, a smile stretched across his face. Harry smiled back at him, overwhelmed with the feeling of togetherness and wondering how there could ever come a time he felt like he could do this on his own. 

And then he saw Louis, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and waving at a fan, tapping his foot to the beat. His hair was long now, too, as he had insisted on growing it out with Harry. "Until you feel better about it," he had said, shrugging, while letting the hot water fall over his shoulders in the wide shower of their London house together.

Harry had beamed back at him then, picturing this Louis, who was older and sharper and more covered in ink, with fringe like he had when they first met. The reality was even better than in Harry's imagination - soft, brown fringe falling straight over his chiseled cheekbones dusted with scruff, the light from the spotlight creating a glowing halo around his head.

Harry kept his careful eyes on Louis as he sang the lyrics he knew so well, remembering the quiet nervousness in Louis' voice when he had sung Harry to sleep on a night when the world was making him dizzy again: 

_"I'm sorry if I say I need you, but I don't care, I'm not scared of love. 'Cause when I'm not with you, I'm weaker. Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong, that you make me strong?"_

He fiddled with the scarf around his head, feeling for the frayed end and tucking it back under itself. He had grown accustomed to it now, the way it felt wrapped tightly around his forehead, lifting his fringe out of his eyes. He tried not to think about it too much, tried not to look at pictures of himself with it on online, because even though it didn't look necessarily  _bad_ , it wasn't what he wanted. He knew he had to be patient with it, give it time to grow without getting too worried about it and letting it negatively affect him again. 

He had also started practicing yoga regularly, paying attention to every inch of his body and the way it flexed and shifted and ached. It felt good to worry about his body in relation to himself again, rather than just seeing it as something for other people to see. He felt better than he had a year earlier, but he knew this was just a transition. This was just the beginning of the next step of his life, and he was starting to see how important it was that he was emotionally prepared for it.

Louis glanced up and over at him, catching his eyes and smiling faintly as he sang his solo. Harry felt a divide within him, like he was both a raging fire and a crashing sea; like everything he held inside of him was on a completely even scale for once in his life. He felt like crying, but a good cry, a cry that felt like the hopeful promise of early spring rain.

So he did, hours later when they were back at their LA house and he climbed naked into the soft sheets next to Louis. Their skin was soft and warm from the shower they had just taken, and the silent beads of water dropping from the ends of Harry's curls onto his collarbones were soothing, grounding. His eyes filled with warm tears and he felt one glide down his cheek, and onto the top of Louis' still-wet head.

Louis hummed happily with his head on Harry's chest, rolling from his stomach onto his back and smiling sleepily.

"I'm so tired," Louis said through a yawn, "Will you turn the light off?"

"Sure," Harry said, leaning for the switch on the lamp and sniffling a little too loud, catching Louis' attention.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry laughed while wiping a tear away. "Nothing's wrong, Louis. I'm just happy."

Louis rolled over again to face him, settling on his elbows, and smiled. "I'm happy, too."

Harry lifted his hand to the side of Louis' face, drawing tiny circles in the space right above his ear. He suddenly remembered what he told a girl with dark brown hair at the show in Edinburgh: advice to "pick someone supportive." He watched Louis' eyelashes flutter along the tops of his cheeks and his heart swelled so big he thought it might actually burst.

"You looked so lovely tonight," he said, his voice low and thick. 

Louis hummed, bringing one of his hands to Harry's chest and tracing lightly along the outlines of the sparrows on his chest, one for each of them, always flying back to each other. _He looks young,_ Harry thought to himself, _but not like he had looked when he was younger. Because that makes sense._

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked quietly.

Louis smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. "It's a secret."

Harry scoffed, offended. "A secret you're keeping from  _me?_ "

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Louis groaned, rolling his eyes. "I've just started writing again."

"Already?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. Not that he wasn't still writing - he wrote all the time, little scribbles in his journal here and there of words or melodies stuck in his head. 

But Louis liked it better when he had Julian and Liam in a studio, developing songs as more of a team effort than just on his own. Harry didn't blame him - the atmosphere in the studio was always warm and inviting, and Julian liked to approach his writing sessions almost as if it were a therapy session - they talked for hours in the studio about life and love and heartache and how it all could be blended together and put in a song. But they had just put out "Fireproof" a few days ago, and they had decided as a group to not rush the songwriting process as much for the next album, so this was strange.

Louis shrugged, voice suddenly soft. "I've just had things I've been wanting to say, I think."

Harry nodded. "Do you want to say them now, or...?" He trailed off, unsure of where Louis was headed.

Louis sighed, locking eyes with him. "Just, you know. About what we've been through. About what we've found in each other. All that gushy, romantic shit you love so much."

Harry snorted, but noticed the way Louis glanced down at his forearms resting on the mattress, rubbing his finger lightly over the letters spelling out "HOME" on his compass, and smiling fondly.

"I think," Harry started, suddenly breathless, "I think it's okay for you to cut your hair now."

Louis looked up at him through his lashes, absolutely and utterly dazzling. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "Definitely. I think mine's long enough now that I can manage wearing it down." He reached his hand over to find Louis' still resting on the compass, and held it tightly before adding, "I think I'm good now."

Louis smiled before leaning down and pressing his lips to Harry's softly. "Okay."

He lingered there for a brief moment before kissing Harry again, and again and again, soft and warm and content. It felt like Harry had known these lips his entire life, and he supposed that he practically had. He wanted to know these lips for however many years he had left in him, to never have to forget them, to know them so well that he never  _could_  forget them.

Louis pulled away, sighing, before plopping onto his back on his side of the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm actually relieved you said that. My fringe is getting bloody ridiculous. I look like I'm in a fucking pop-punk band."

Harry laughed, the sound passing through his lips warm and thin. "Well,  _I_  think it looks beautiful."

Louis looked over at him, grinning. "Maybe just a trim, then."

\---

Harry was 21, struggling to keep his eyes open while watching the season finale of "London Spy." He was still wearing the Gucci suit he had worn for the X Factor performance, partly because he was too tired to get up from his curled-up ball on the sofa, but also partly because he had been so excited to wear it - the second he laid eyes on it his stomach swooped, like he had fallen in love, and he almost felt like it was made for him - and he didn't feel like taking it off until he absolutely had to. _Or until Louis takes it off for me_ , he thought to himself, glancing at the clock. 

In that same moment, Harry heard the sound of keys unlocking the front door, and something inside him settled. 

"Oh, hello love," Louis said with the easy slur of just a bit too much alcohol, closing the door and locking it behind him. "Did you fall asleep watching TV again?"

Harry yawned. "No, I was waiting up for you."

Louis looked him up and down and smirked. "And stayed in your suit?"

"Didn't feel like taking it off yet," Harry shrugged, sitting up to make room for him on the couch. 

"Told you, you didn't have to stay up for me," Louis said, settling in next to him.

"I know, I just wanted to talk a bit before bed."

Louis hummed. "About what?"

"Just," Harry started, laying his head on Louis' lap and stretching his legs out across the sofa, "Today. How do you feel about it all?"

Louis was quiet, speaking slowly, "It was… strange, I suppose."

"Yeah, definitely strange. It was a much bigger, like, ceremony than I thought it was going to be."

Louis nodded. "It just still doesn't feel quite right, you know? Without… him."

Harry found Louis' hand and held it lightly. He was right. Things were just strange now that Zayn had left. They had all agreed that they would stick out this album and promo season before taking a break and sorting themselves out, but it was just weird. Like there was this thing they all wanted to talk about but never did, that the whole rest of the world saw when they looked at them but tried to ignore. It was like a phantom limb, Harry had once mused, how sometimes he would grab his phone to text Zayn before remembering everything that happened, how he probably wouldn't even appreciate Harry reaching out to him at this point. It was hard.

But it was even harder for Louis. Harry couldn't believe the grace Louis had when talking about it for the first time on James' show, especially afterwards when he had broken down crying in the car.  

"I just think about him a lot, I guess. I think of things I want to tell him - or show him - but I can't. And then I start thinking about what an arse I made of myself on Twitter, and I just don't think things will ever be the same again. I guess that really scares me."

"Lou," Harry mumbled, rubbing his thumb across Louis' knuckles, "You can't let yourself live in the past. You did what you did, you know? It happened. There's no going back, but that doesn't mean you can't go forward. You can't let this be a roadblock on your journey to happiness."

Louis cracked out a laugh. "Did you read that in a self-help book or summat?"

"It was a motivational audiobook," Harry corrected, "And that doesn't make it any less insightful."

Louis was quiet for a moment. "Tonight felt much more like a goodbye than I had thought it would," he said, looking down at the ground, lost in thought.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to get Louis' attention back, "But we know it's not. We all promised this wouldn't be the end - all four of us. That's all that really matters, right?"

Louis nodded, a smile spreading silently across his face as he looked down at Harry. "Your hair has gotten so long," He whispered, running his fingers through it. 

"I know, finally," Harry joked, closing his eyes and enjoying the tips of Louis' fingers pressing lightly into his scalp.

"Is it just how you always imagined it?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared into Louis' deep, twinkling eyes, grinning freely. "It's so much better than I ever imagined it."

Louis laughed, his fingers still gently combing through his hair. "Why do you say that?"

"Because of you," Harry said, "Because you've stayed by my side and supported me through it, watched me grow. I couldn't have done it without you, you know that right, Lou? Not a single second of _any_ of this would have been possible without you."

Louis' breath caught in his throat, tears stinging his eyes. "That's not true, Harry-"

"It is, though," he interrupted, "It is, and you deserve to know. You always tell me how strong I am, and how I make you feel strong, but do you even realize how strong you make me feel? You've helped me through things I would've never been able to handle alone. I never thought I'd be the type of person who felt comfortable enough with myself to do things like skip down a stage with a rainbow flag - no matter how much it makes me happy. I just thought I'd never get to be myself. But you make me feel like it's okay for me to be myself, and you deserve to know that. And I just want you to get to this point, too, where you can be at peace with yourself."

"I want that too," Louis whispered, "I want to get to where you are."

"Then let's go. What's stopping us?"

Louis laughed, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "You're such a sap, I swear, you're the worst."

Harry laughed too. "But you can't tell me you don't love it."

"You're right," Louis said, wiping away tears. "I do."

Harry reached up and gently pulled Louis down for a kiss, dragging it out, slow and deep. Louis laughed into Harry's mouth before pulling away, his eyes like a warm fire in the middle of winter, and said, "Your suit is beautiful, love, but I think it's about time we get you out of it."

\---

Harry is 22, smiling, lying back on the lounge on the bow of their small yacht. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, letting the salty ocean air fill his lungs before exhaling and letting out every bit of tension in his body. He's gotten good at that.

"Oi!" Louis yells from inside, "Fancy a drink?"

Harry brings his hand up to shade his eyes from the summer sun as he turns and gives him a thumbs up through the window and replies, "Yes, please."

He turns back around, taking in the beauty of the island in front of him. He's always wanted to visit Catalina, so when Louis suggested that they get away from LA for a few days, Harry knew exactly where he wanted to go. The rocky coastline was perfect for snorkeling - which they had done  _a lot_ of - and at night, they'd go into town for dinner and drinks.

They weren't worrying about being seen, though Harry's sure they've been by now. But it just seems so pointless now to hide when there is nothing they're afraid of anymore. Harry is starting to feel comfortable out in public again. He feels like a person, like the one he knew he had always been, and it's nice to finally be seen that way. Louis seems to feel better, too. Harry has noticed the way his eyes look brighter, how when he walks he's lighter on his feet. He smiles breezily, like wind blowing through clean, white sails. 

It's still a bit surreal; waking up every morning with the realization that they have no plans or commitments for the day. After five years of a constant storm, the sky is finally clear blue, reflecting the waves rocking below them.

"Cheers," Harry says, taking the ice cold Corona Louis hands him. 

"Absolutely beautiful day," Louis murmurs, settling into the lounger next to Harry and taking a sip from his glass bottle. 

 _It's always beautiful with you_ , Harry thinks, but holds back from saying out loud. Louis always makes fun of him when he says things like that out of nowhere, but he can't help himself most of the time. Other times, he just writes them down in his journal and keeps for lyrics someday.

Instead of saying anything, he reaches for the ukulele under his chair and starts strumming tentatively, trying to remember the chords to a song he hasn't thought of in a while, but that suddenly needs to be sung. It's a simple song; it sounds light and airy, with a melody that floats and swirls above their heads, and gleams off the sparkling waves below them. Harry sings softly, like it's only for them - lyrics about seeing for the first time and feeling like you just woke up. 

When he's done, he clears his throat, avoiding Louis' gaze while grabbing his beer.

"That was beautiful," Louis says quietly.

"Thank you."

"Did you write that?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, it's an old song I knew. It kind of makes me think of how I feel about you."

Louis smiles warmly. "I'm glad. It's how I feel about you too."

Harry leans over and gives him a small kiss.

"It's mad to think about it, don't you think?" Louis says, peering at Harry through the tint of his aviators, "How long it's been. With you and me."

Harry nods. "It still feels like I met you yesterday. But at the same time, even on the day I met you, I felt like I had known you my whole life."

"Exactly," Louis says, bringing his bottle back up to his lips and taking a gulp. He thinks for a moment, looking out at the island in front of them. "I'm glad this happened. Even after everything; how difficult it's all been and how much we've had to fight - I'm glad this happened. I don't think I could ever feel this happy with anyone else."

For once in his life, Harry doesn't feel like he is about to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as me getting real emotional in a groupchat and snowballed into this disaster.  
> Thank you to Moriah for helping me for helping me get this ready to post! I owe you my life!!  
> Thank you to Gen for making the beautiful photoset edit for this!  
> Thank you to everyone in the groupchat for talking this through with me, helping me when I got stuck, and for overall being amazing people.  
> And last but not least, thank you to everyone on tumblr who messaged me, replied to my posts, or even just liked my posts to help motivate me and keep me going. It really means a lot to me to have finally finished something I started!  
>   
> Leave a comment if you'd like, I always appreciate any feedback.  
> My tumblr is @grayromanticharry  
> Love y'all as always!


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